Mortal Enemies

by Laure Alexander

Prologue

Buffy stepped off the bus into dry heat and looked around as she waited for her bag to be unloaded. There were a lot of cars zooming past--many more than she ever would have guessed were in the entire state of Kansas, let alone one little town.

And, even though she was surrounded by buildings, the sky seemed endless.

Picking up her bag, she began to trudge up the street to the cheap looking motel she had seen from the bus as they had passed it. She had enough money for a couple of nights if she was lucky, then she'd be tapped out.

She would have saved enough for a Big Mac meal too if she had gotten off at the last stop--the capital she vaguely remembered from geography lessons, surely a large city-- but one look at Topeka and her mind had said 'no way'. The next stop had been as far as she could go if she wanted to sleep in a bed rather than on a park bench for more than a night.

So, here she was in Lawrence, Kansas, wondering what the Hell she was going to do with the remainder of her most- likely short life.

*****

Part 1

Buffy awoke at dawn to a really annoying sound coming through the paper thin walls of her motel room. It was a loud raspy buzz with a whine in it. Wondering what the Hell it was, she pulled herself from the bed and stumbled over to the window. Pulling open the curtains, she blinked in the early morning sun, but didn't see anything that might make such a horrendous noise.

Yawning, she groped her way into the bathroom to take a shower. Item number one on the list of things to do that day was buy a newspaper, quickly followed by item number two which was find a job.

*****

At 7:00 Buffy left her motel room to head for the nearby McDonalds for breakfast. She was immediately assaulted by what seemed like a million flying, buzzing bugs rising from the tree outside her room. Battling her way through them, she made her way to the relative safety of the parking lot.

"Great. I've moved to bug world," she muttered under her breath as she stalked down the street.

As she bought her breakfast and a paper, she was informed that the bugs were locusts and that the town was at the convergence of two separate cycles. In other words--a plague. Just perfect for her mood.

*****

Finding a job was ridiculously easy. Apparently, Lawrence had a very transient young population and there were a lot of employers willing to hire day labor without references.

By noon, Buffy was digging potatoes on a farm north of town alongside two young men and one woman. At a break they all sat under a large shade tree, drinking bottles of Gatorade. The other three--Tad, Janice and Quinton--had been traveling together for over a year.

"Yeah, we spent the summer here last year. It's a great town. Lots of cool people. Great music. The cops are pretty cool, too," Janice said between swigs of her drink.

"They don't roust you unless you're causing trouble. They get on panhandling, though, but there are always jobs like these in the summer," Tad added.

"So, where are you from, Buffy?" Quinton asked.

"Southern California. A little pit of a town an hour from L.A."

"Cool. We were in Frisco for a while last winter," Tad said.

Buffy was a little surprised that these kids, just a few years older than her own seventeen, spent their lives traveling around the country. It was a new phenomenon to her. "So, where do you stay here?"

Janice pointed back towards the town. "About two miles down this road there's a campground. We just pitch a tent. There are showers and a shop. The owner is pretty cool. Used to tour with some ancient rock band and is really into hippy stuff, so he gives us a decent rate."

Quinton stood up, brushing down his baggy camouflage pants. "Better get back to it. Hey, if you ain't doing anything after work, there are some great local bands playing at a club downtown where they have real cheap sandwiches. You want to come with?"

Buffy thought about it for a split second. She didn't really want to have a good time ever again, but a girl needed to eat. "Sure."

*****

One month passed pretty quickly as Buffy settled into life in Lawrence, Kansas. Her speedy work on the farm had gotten her hired on for the rest of the summer and after three weeks at the campground, she had been able to rent a small, furnished trailer. She could afford it as long as she lived off hamburger helper and canned vegetables and walked everywhere.

She kept herself too busy to think much about the life she had left behind. Sometimes she wondered what her friends were up to, if her mom was okay. A few times she had reached for a pay phone and just stopped herself from calling someone. The merest hint of a thought about Angel was brutally shoved to the back of her mind.

Her days fell into a welcome pattern. Up before dawn, a two mile walk to work, eight hard hours in the field, a two mile walk back to her trailer, shower, dinner, then hopefully dreamless sleep. On the weekends, she usually hung out on the downtown main street--which for some reason was not called Main Street, but was known as Massachusetts Street--with her new friends, going to clubs, playing video games and watching the world pass her by. Anything to prevent herself from having to think.

Her new friends didn't know much about her. That way, no one would get close enough to her to get hurt. She was still the Slayer, after all, although she hadn't seen anything worth slaying since her arrival. That was probably a good thing. Her anger at demons in general and vampires in specific had been building into a simmering fury for over a month.

The first vampire to cross her path would probably get the pounding of his or her unlife before being staked.

*****

A Saturday night in mid July found Buffy walking back across the bridge from the downtown just after midnight. Quinton had, for the dozenth time, tried to convince her to spend the night with him and rather than hang around watching him nurse her rejection with beer, she had decided to split.

A part of her wondered why she couldn't just fling herself into a one night stand with him or with any of the guys who had asked her in the last month. But the larger part of her knew why. Her body was cold and dead and she preferred it that way. Being held and caressed might just bring her back to life and that was the last thing she wanted.

Of course, she still loved Angel as well, although she didn't allow herself to think about him as being the real excuse for not wanting to sleep with anyone else.

Living on the streets--or near enough to it--for the past month, Buffy had seen a side of life she had only heard about. The kids here lived hand to mouth. Most slept in the parks or at the campground. None of the girls were alone. It was a well accepted fact that it was easier to get by with a guy--someone to share the expenses with, someone to protect you from the creeps that were out there. Sometimes love was involved, but more often relationships were formed for survival and companionship.

Their lives were nothing she had been prepared for. She had been raised to be like some of the college girls who came downtown on the weekends to shop, driving their daddy's cars and smelling of designer perfume. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she had once been just like them.

Suddenly a car screeched to a halt beside her, causing her to jump in surprise. As she spun around, Buffy took in the large black car, then stumbled back against the bridge railing in even more surprise at the sight of the figure emerging from the driver's side.

"I knew I recognized that butt!"

With a wide grin on his face, Spike flicked his cigarette away and circled the front of the car.

*****

Part 2

Buffy began to slide slowly along the railing of the bridge, her hand moving inconspicuously into her tote bag, her eyes never leaving the figure circling the front of the car, a wide grin on his face.

"Slayer! What a lovely surprise, finding you in the middle of nowhere."

Buffy continued to move backwards as he approached. Her searching hand grasped around a stake and she yanked it free of the bag. In a blindingly swift move, Spike grabbed the hand that held the stake and pinned it behind her back. Successfully blocking her attacking knee, he shoved her against the railing, bending her ever so slightly backwards.

"And here I thought we were bestest of friends," Spike said with a hint of menace in his voice.

Buffy gasped at the dizziness that flooded her, her ears filling with the sound of the water rushing over the dam thirty feet below her. She knew that if she managed to push him away, she could easily topple over the side. Going against every instinct she had, Buffy forced herself to relax.

"Sorry, Spike. Reflex action," she quipped in a shaky voice.

The grin returning to his face, if not to his eyes, Spike slowly pulled her away from the edge of the bridge and released her, taking a step back. Buffy immediately attacked, plunging the stake towards his chest. Barely managing to sidestep instant death, Spike flung himself towards his car. Spinning around, his demon at the fore, he backhanded his attacker, sending her flying into the railing.

The pain surprised her. It had been over a month since anyone had hit her. Memories of the last fight she had been a participant in swamped her and Buffy sank to her knees, facing the moonlit river. Silently she began to cry as the dam inside her broke, freeing the emotions that were always there under the tightly controlled surface.

"Get up," Spike growled harshly from behind her. Buffy ignored him, waiting, nearly praying for the death she hadn't had the courage to seek out. "Don't die on your knees, girl!" A clawed hand dug into her shoulder and jerked her to her feet. Turning her, Spike raised his hand, preparing to slash her throat. At the sight of the tears leaking from her closed eyes, the torment in her expression, he let her go, his face morphing back to normal. "This just won't do," he muttered petulantly. "It isn't fun if you don't fight back, pet."

Buffy's eyes flew open to stare at him. The humor had returned to his eyes as he leaned back against his car, arms crossed over his chest. Why wasn't he killing her? She swallowed hard and muttered through her tears, "Get it over with, Spike."

"Can't do it, luv. Right now you're too pathetic to kill." He made a tsking noise. "Sloppy attack, giving up way too soon, tears...Not much of a slayer, are we."

The sarcasm in his voice was almost enough to make her angry, but that emotion had become so foreign to her she let it be overwhelmed by the pain and guilt she lived with. The tears continued to flow as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to think or feel anything.

"Slayer, this is getting really pitiful."

"Stuff it, Spike," she choked out. As a sob broke from her, she spun on her heel and continued across the bridge, eyes downcast. She was aware the instant he fell into step with her.

"So, where are we going?" he asked conversationally.

Blinded by tears, Buffy stumbled only to be caught up against Spike's firm, lean body. Instinctively she began to struggle, but he held her tightly and swung her into his arms. As he strode back the way they had come, Buffy broke down completely, sobbing noisily. All the pain, guilt and grief she had bottled inside her for months poured from her and she clung to Spike. Pressing her face into his chest, she clutched desperately at his shoulders, wanting, praying for everything to just end.

"That's it, luv; let it all out," he murmured in a gentler voice than she had ever thought he could possess.

Gently Spike settled her in the passenger seat of his car, firmly disentangling himself from her grasping hands. By the time he had gone around to the driver's side, Buffy had curled into a little ball, her face buried in her knees as she sobbed.

Turning the key in the ignition, Spike found his eyes wandering to her huddled form. As the engine revved to life, he sat back and watched her, wondering why he hadn't killed her. His line about her being pathetic had been accurate, but since when had that stopped him? Most of his victims sobbed for their lives.

Maybe it was because she hadn't been sobbing for her life. He had seen mortals with death wishes before. Her's might be unspoken, but it was there in her feeble attack and break down. The slayer wanted to die.

So, again the question, why was she still alive, sitting beside him in his car?

That last night, the hesitant alliance they had made, the mutual desire to rid the world of Angelus...had there been something else hidden in their sarcastic, sniping hatred of each other?

He knew hate. What he was feeling was no where near it.

For the last several months his hatred had been reserved for his sire. His only thoughts about the slayer had been rather automatic--that Angel should just get on with it and kill her. He really hadn't cared whether she lived or died; he just wanted something--anything--to take Angel's attention away from Dru.

Thoughts of Drusilla brought too much pain and Spike shook himself from his revery. "Where to, pet?"

Slowly Buffy looked up at him. Tears were still sliding down her wet cheeks from her red eyes, but the hideous sobs had ceased. Rubbing her hands over her tangled, damp hair, she mumbled her address and directions to him. Spike pulled the car back into the minimal traffic and headed north.

As Spike drove, Buffy began to pull her scattered thoughts together, trying to understand what had brought her to this moment--sitting a foot away from her worst enemy, letting him drive her home. And, why hadn't he tried a little harder to kill her?

Why hadn't she tried a little harder to kill him?

Gently brushing the tears from her cheeks, Buffy glanced at him from the corner of her eye, taking in his strong profile as he easily guided the car with one hand, the other one propped in the open window. Why was he being nice to her?

Their truce had been temporary, a necessary alliance to bring down...Buffy's mind skittered and she swallowed hard, forcing the rampant emotions back down inside her. For a month she had survived by not thinking about him, not feeling anything about him but low level ever present pain and guilt. She wondered why the bad emotions crept through her barricades, but nothing good could escape. She had felt no joy, no pleasure since leaving Sunnydale.

Spike's presence had freed something inside her that she didn't want to feel. She could live without the joy if she never again felt the agony of loss that had consumed her for those few minutes on the bridge.

Now, slowly, she was growing cold again, stamping out all hint of emotion. Apparently, she would survive another night, but not if she allowed herself to feel anything but residual emotions. Allowing herself to truly feel would allow the grief to drive her mad.

Spike pulled up in front of her dingy trailer on a weed-filled lot and stopped the car. "Hmm, this is certainly a downgrade in choice of residences."

Buffy ignored him and slid from the car, walking up the gravel drive to the door. She knew Spike was following her, but pretended he didn't exist as she dug her key out of her bag and unlocked the door.

"Gonna invite me in, pet?"

Slowly Buffy turned to face her nemesis and found him grinning evilly at her. She gave him a cool, controlled look. "I'm not that stupid."

"Oh, c'mon. Here we are the only vampire and the only slayer in this dinky little town in Kansas, for Hell's sake. It'd get really dull if one of us killed the other, don't you think?"

"We're mortal enemies, Spike. That's what mortal enemies do."

*****

Part 3

Spike just looked at Buffy until she finally sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Fine. I must have a death wish," she muttered.

Yeah, he'd agree with her on that one.

"Come on in, but if you try anything funny, you're staked."

"Oh, yeah, you're scary," he replied, following her into the tiny, sparsely furnished trailer. He flopped down in an armchair that's stuffing was spilling from various holes and crossed one leg over his knee. "So, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere, Kansas?"

Buffy gave him a sharp look and dropped her bag on the kitchen table. "Where's Drusilla?"

Spike frowned at her. "Okay, no tough questions. What should we chat about?"

"So, what happened? She dump your sorry ass?" Buffy persisted.

"You really are looking for death, aren't you, Slayer?" he quipped in a menacing voice.

Sighing, Buffy sat down in a kitchen chair and crossed her arms across her chest. "Why are you here, Spike? In my trailer?"

"Because you invited me, luv."

Buffy rolled her eyes at the literalness of his answer and Spike began to tap the fingers of one hand on the arm of the chair.

"Maybe because you're the first familiar thing in a thousand miles," he said through gritted teeth. His voice gentled as he gazed at her frozen, empty face. "Why are you here, Buffy?"

It was the first time he had ever spoken her name to her and something opened inside her. She blinked at fresh tears. "I don't know," she whispered. Wiping at her eyes, she got up and started past him. "I think you better leave."

As she stumbled past, Spike caught her wrist and the next thing either of them knew, she had tumbled onto his lap. Buffy squirmed in a mixture of fear and embarrassment and their eyes met. Something in his eyes made her stop trying to get up.

The hand that held her wrist loosened and began to caress her trembling skin. Buffy's lips parted in a pant as she watched his eyes darken, harden. Unbidden, her free hand touched his cheek. The firm, cool skin was so familiar...

A low moan broke from her as her body came alive to the feeling of a man holding her. Tingling sensations washed over her and the tears leaked from her wide eyes. "I need..." she whispered.

"What do you need?" he answered in a husky voice, full of emotion he hadn't expected to feel.

"I need...to be held."

Spike's arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer until her breasts pressed against his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening. That he was growing aroused by holding the slayer!

But, he was. He wanted the young woman trembling in his arms. He had always found her attractive, enjoyed her wit and sarcasm, admired her sleek, lithe body, but...she was the slayer!

Trying to find a way out of this before they fell in too deep, he said, "And none of a billion mortals in this world could hold you?"

Buffy shook her head. "They'd make me feel alive. I don't want to feel alive." The hand on his cheek slid up into his hair. "Can you make me feel death, Spike?" she whispered before covering his mouth with her's.

All rational thought fled Buffy's mind. His touch was so familiar. She needed to feel that way again...the way *he* had made her feel, his cold hands caressing her hot flesh, his cold cock deep inside her. He had made her want to die...Maybe with Spike she finally would.

Stunned by the touch of her hungry mouth, Spike found himself instinctively responding, his arms tightening around her. The word 'slayer' kept bouncing around his short- circuiting brain, but his body was in control...for now, at least.

When she rose to her feet, still kissing him, he followed her and pulled her against him. Buffy rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with growing passion.

No longer thinking, driven by the heat spreading through her loins, Buffy backed them down the hall towards her tiny bedroom and the double bed it contained. A tiny part of her screamed at how wrong this was, but her body, untouched for so many months, was on over-drive, throbbing, hot, needing a man's touch.

And when that little part of her yelled that he wasn't a man, she ruthlessly shut it up, digging her hands into Spike's shoulders and tugging him down with her onto the bed.

The room was dark, but he could see her clearly as he lay propped over her. She was panting and trembling, obviously hungry for his touch. As he watched the emotions play across her face, knowing she couldn't see the similar emotions on his, Spike's hands began to unbutton her shirt.

He wouldn't ask her if she was sure she wanted to do this. If she said no, he wasn't sure he could stop.

At the feel of cold fingers sliding over the tops of her breasts, Buffy moaned deep in her throat, pushing her pelvis up against his hardness. She helped him pull his t- shirt over his head, then leaned up and began to place light kisses on his smooth chest.

Groaning, Spike turned her, pulling the shirt down her arms and flinging it over his shoulder as her hot lips touched his skin, sending sparks of pleasure racing through him. How long had it been since a woman had made him feel this way?

Gazing down at breasts encased in white lace, fuller and plumper than he could have imagined, an airless pant broke from his lips. Sliding one hand inside the cup, his fingers found her nipple, already hard. Buffy jerked and whimpered, her nails digging into his back as she began to nibble on one of his own nipples in lusty retaliation.

The front clasp of her bra easily opened for him and Spike feasted his eyes on her pale, pink-tipped breasts. Bending his head, he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

Electricity jolted through Buffy. Gripping his head, she held him to her breast, moaning continuously. The pleasure was incredible--so long forgotten--so hot and unbearable. Spike moved to her other breast and she arched against him, eagerly offering herself.

As he tongued her nipples, one after the other, Spike's hands slipped down further and ran over the crotch of her shorts. He could feel her damp heat through the thick cotton. Nimble fingers untying the drawstring, he began to pull the shorts down. Instinctively Buffy lifted her hips and he pulled the article of clothing free.

Pulling back, Spike rose to his knees and looked down at her, trembling on the bed. Her eyes were open, but glazed with desire, her fingers were digging rhythmically into the bedding beneath her, her slender legs were slightly parted. Leaning down, he pulled her sandals off, gently running his fingers over the arches of her sensitive feet.

Buffy's feet jerked and she whimpered. When his cold tongue circled her big toe, she nearly arched off the bed. "Oh God..." she moaned, thrashing her head. The heat between her legs had become a throbbing pressure and he was kissing her feet! "Please," she begged, not really sure what she was asking for.

Grinning, Spike placed a kiss on her ankle, then ran his tongue up her shin, knee and thigh. The muscles of her thigh jumped under his touch. As his lips brushed her hip, his sensitive nose smelled the musky scent of her arousal and he was oddly pleased that she wanted him so much.

Excruciatingly slowly, one of Spike's hands slid up her other thigh, then slipped to the inside, then lightly ran across the crotch of her white panties. Buffy arched against his hand, a shudder running through her entire body. He began to peel the panties down, over her hips and down her trembling legs, then off her feet.

If he could have breathed, his breath would have caught in his throat as he took in the sight of the soft, brown hair between her thighs. She was exquisite and incredibly sexy all at the same time.

Looking up, past her heaving breasts and panting lips, Spike caught her eyes. They were wild and full of need. He could prolong this for hours, but, as a very experienced man, he recognized that it had been a long time for her--probably since that first and only time with Angel.

Dipping his head between her thighs, his mouth immediately found the center of her pleasure and he began to kiss and tongue her.

Buffy's knees pinned his head between her legs as she pushed against his mouth. "So cold, so cold, cold, cold..." she mumbled over and over as the pleasure built. Her hands found her breasts, tweaking the tender, hard nipples.

Spike had forgotten how different it was with a mortal. She was so hot to his touch, nearly burning his tongue as he lapped at her femininity. Her legs began a constant trembling and he knew she was near. Closing his lips around her throbbing clitoris, he sucked hard.

Yelling, Buffy exploded, her fingers twisting her nipples, her legs clenching his head, her body spasming. She flung her head back against the pillow and thrust herself against his mouth, her cries dwindling to moans.

Buffy whimpered as he pulled back and rose on shaky legs, but didn't have the strength to bring him back to her. Quickly Spike kicked off his shoes and yanked his jeans down his legs. Even with the endurance of a vampire, he couldn't wait much longer.

As he slid back between her thighs, Buffy's shaking arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him over her slick body. She moaned again as his hard, cold chest scraped over her throbbing nipples and met his mouth in a hungry, tongue thrusting kiss.

Feeling her legs wrapping around his hips, Spike slid his pulsing erection against her wet cleft. Buffy whimpered and pressed herself against him, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

As he thrust into her hot channel, she gasped, her eyes opening wide. It felt so good. Like ice inside her burning body. Her hips met his thrust and she tightened her legs around him.

Pulling her head back to pant through moist lips, she watched as Spike flung his own head back, propping himself above her with his arms on either side of her head. She began to run her nails over his chest, eliciting a groan from him as she scraped his nipples.

In the gloom of the room, she watched the pleasure that crossed his face, felt him speed up the thrusts, heard the slapping sound from flesh hitting flesh as their pelvises met. The tension began to build again inside her.

Groaning, unprepared for the quick, hot pleasure that slammed into her, she grabbed his shoulders, concentrating on grinding her sensitive mound against him. Putting his weight on one arm, Spike slid the other hand down between their bodies and began to finger her clitoris.

She yelped at his touch and climaxed noisily, babbling to God and clinging to him. Lowering his upper body to rest on her's, Spike gripped her hips and slammed her up against him as his climax hit. He thrust mindlessly, grunting in pleasurable agony as he emptied himself into her.

Finally, they both collapsed, him sprawled half on top of her, their bodies still intimately joined.

As his mind slowly returned to normal, Spike glanced up at the slayer with whom he had just shared an incredible sexual experience and found her asleep, flushed and cutely tousled.

Grinning, tired himself, he levered himself off of her and flopped on his back. Gently he pulled her into his arms and she curled around him, snuffling her face into his chest. Trying not to wonder what the Hell had just happened, Spike dozed off.

*****

Part 4

Buffy woke slowly, her eyelids fluttering, then shutting against the hint of light blocked almost entirely by the thick curtains over the one small window. She felt...strange. For a moment, her mind drifted away again, then sensations began to enter her awareness.

Whatever she was lying on was cool and hard, yet strangely contoured. There were unfamiliar twinges in her legs. She felt sticky with more than perspiration...

Suddenly it all came back in a rush and her eyes flew open. Her head rested on Spike's chest, one of her legs was draped across him, her knee pressed lightly against...was that really...OH GOD!

Stifling her instinctive groan and trying not to wake him, she glanced up. Spike's eyes were closed; he wasn't breathing. He looked dead.

The slayer in her yelled 'Find a stake. Do your duty.' Buffy ignored her inner voice and carefully moved off of Spike. Sliding from her bed, she grabbed for a t-shirt, yanking it over her naked body, determined not to think about the events of the previous night.

Slipping from the room, she headed for the bathroom and a long, hot shower. As the water pounded over her, washing away all physical remnants of the night before, Buffy closed her eyes and scrubbed blindly.

Images began to pop into her mind. Mouths meeting in hungry kisses; gentle hands caressing naked skin; cold flesh sliding over hot; his eyes on hers as he thrust deep inside her.

Shuddering, Buffy turned the water off and grabbed a towel, roughly drying herself, trying not to think. Her clean clothes sat unfolded in a basket outside the bathroom door. During the heat of the day before she hadn't had the energy to put them away. As she dug out a pair of underwear and shorts to go with the t-shirt, she was glad she didn't have to enter the bedroom just yet.

Dressed and brushing her wet hair she walked silently into the dark main room of the trailer and turned on the window air-conditioner, keeping the thick curtains tightly closed to keep out the heat. Letting the cold air chill her hot skin, she began to think about what she was going to do next.

*****

Late afternoon rolled in with no answers. Buffy had spent the day reliving the events of the previous night, from their first meeting, through their fight, through her emotional breakdown, through his strange tenderness, to...the sex...the wild, passionate, wholly stupid sex.

The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on the sex. Flushed from the erotic memories, it took her a few seconds to realize that someone was knocking on her door. Shaking her head to try to clear it, Buffy rose from the chair she had spent several hours in and winced as her muscles groaned.

Opening the door she found her new friends carrying food and belatedly remembered that she had invited them over for supper.

"Hey!" Janice exclaimed, brushing past Buffy carrying a grocery bag with hot dogs and buns. "You look thrashed. Did we wake you?"

"Um, no. Come on in." Tad and Quinton slipped past her, carrying beer, pop and chips. Shutting the heat outside, Buffy closed the door and turned to her friends. "I kinda forgot I invited you."

"We can leave," Quinton began.

"No, no, I don't want you to leave. I just forgot and the place is a mess..."

Janice gave her a cheerful grin and began to put the food in the fridge. "Spotless as usual."

"You want to come clean our place? It's a dump," Tad said as he opened a beer and flopped on the couch.

Quinton joined him. "Only because you've never lifted a finger to pick up one thing."

Ignoring the boys' argument, Janice found two glasses and poured some diet cola, then leaned against the counter, sipping hers. Buffy swirled the drink around in the glass for a minute.

"Your mind is a million miles away. Really, Buffy, we can leave."

Buffy glanced up at Janice's sympathetic, friendly face and plastered on a smile. "No. I want you to stay. It's just..."

"Well, well, you didn't tell me we were having company."

Buffy winced at the strong, masculine, cheerful, accented voice coming from the direction of the bedroom.

"Hey man, I'm Tad, this is Quinton and Janice. We brought dinner."

"I can see you did," Spike said, grinning. Buffy spun and glared at him, then set her glass down and hurried over to his side.

"You're up a little early," she said through clenched teeth as she took a hold of Spike's arm. The son of a bitch was wearing only his jeans with the top button undone. Silently she groaned, not wanting to face the inevitable questions. "He's a night person," she tried to explain, her fingers digging into Spike's arm.

"I'm Spike, an old friend of Buffy's."

"New in town?" Janice asked as she joined the group in the living room.

"Passing through. Ran into my dear old friend on the bridge last night." Spike pried Buffy's fingers off his arm and slipped his other arm around her waist, pinning her to his side.

Feeling a sudden influx of heat at his touch, Buffy silently cursed her traitorous body and managed to keep herself from stomping on his bare instep. Her eyes widened as Spike's hand slipped down, then patted her on the bottom. "Go get me a beer, that's a luv."

Swallowing her desire to break the flimsy coffee table into handy stakes, Buffy stomped into the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. Turning back to her friends, she found Spike lounging in the easy chair, well away from the only sunlight which was coming through the kitchen window, chatting about some sport with Tad and Quinton. This was not good.

Handing Spike the can, she retreated to the table where Janice was sitting, gawking at Spike.

"Girlfriend," Janice hissed. "He's gorgeous."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess." Buffy took a big gulp of her drink, hoping it would cool her off--both her anger and her sudden lust.

"You guess? You really are blind, girl."

"Huh?" Buffy mumbled, confused.

"You haven't looked at a guy the whole summer. I figured you had a bad breakup or something. Was it with him?"

Buffy gave her a look of horror at the thought, then turned red as it hit her again just what she had done with her mortal enemy the night before. She groaned and ran her hand over her face. "Oh crap, crap, crap, crap, crap."

Janice patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Men do bring out that emotion in women...I'm gonna ask this one more time. Do you want us to go?"

Buffy grabbed her arm, shaking her head and whispering. "God, no, please. I don't know what the Hell I'm doing anymore. If you're here, maybe I won't do something else totally insane."

"Buffy, dear, your friends want to know how we met."

Inwardly wincing at the playful tone in Spike's voice, Buffy turned her head and replied sweetly. "He told me he was going to kill me so I kicked his ass."

Spike chuckled, but she could see the ice in his eyes. "She's such a kidder." He patted the wide arm of the chair he lounged in. "Come join me, luv. I missed waking up in your arms."

Buffy's eyes shot daggers at him, but she took a seat on the arm of the chair, if only to shut him up. But, Spike wasn't going to let it go at that. He tugged her down onto his lap, forcing her arm around his neck. "I'm gonna kill you," she hissed in his ear.

"Now, now, let's have dinner first," he teased.

Janice headed to the kitchen. "I'll get the hot dogs going. Buffy, where are your pans?"

"In the cabinet next to the stove. I'll come help you."

"No, you stay there with your friend," Janice said with a grin.

Buffy felt herself blushing at the looks Janice was giving her and squirmed a little on Spike's lap. He tightened his hold around her waist. She blushed even more at the feel of something hard poking the underside of her thigh.

"Stop that," Spike murmured into her ear before placing a kiss on the sensitive spot just behind the lobe. As Buffy winced at the sudden surge of lust between her legs, Spike cheerfully turned his attention back to the two young men on the couch. "So, you just travel from town to town, going with the flow, so to speak?"

"Yeah, man, Lawrence is pretty cool in the summer. Winter we try to go someplace a little warmer. Gonna try New Mexico, check out Roswell and all that other weird stuff this Fall," Quinton said smiling, taking sips from his beer, apparently resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Buffy.

Spike nodded in understanding. "I used to do that, travel from place to place. Thought I'd found a place to settle down, but things got a little hot, so I'm on the road again. I have some family in New Orleans, so I'm heading there...well, maybe with a layover here. Lawrence has certain attractions." He leered at the girl sitting very still on his lap and winked at the guys.

Buffy wanted to hit him very badly.

"How may hot dogs do people want?" Janice called from the kitchen. People placed their orders and Tad went to set out dishes and cutlery on the table.

Buffy turned her head and took a hold of Spike's chin as if she was going to kiss him. "Do you want a hot dog, luv?" she asked sweetly.

"Only if it's real dog," he said quietly with a grin.

"Oh, no, pet, you gotta try one. They're made from animal byproducts," she teased, her eyes gleaming wickedly.

Spike frowned and his eyes narrowed. "There's only one animal byproduct I want," he muttered, then kissed her hungrily to shut her up.

Buffy came up for air gasping and Spike grinned, taking a swig of beer. Rolling her eyes, Buffy gave in and relaxed on his lap, hoping the evening would get easier.

*****

Part five

The evening with Buffy's new friends went reasonably well. They all ate hot dogs and chips--even Spike--and relaxed,chatting on a wide variety of subjects.

After dinner Spike made sure that Buffy spent most of the rest of the evening on his lap. Her mind protested, but her body was too willing. She liked being held by him.

Buffy listened to him comparing and contrasting the differences between punk rock of the seventies to modern music and found herself drowning in his voice.

"Okay, what about the new swing movement?" Tad asked. "Can it really compare to the real thing?"

Spike shook his head. "No. It's fun and great stuff to dance to, but nothing beats the early swing music. Cole Porter, Glenn Miller--that was great music, a great scene. I think it's just a case of one more thing coming around again. Seems to be the way the world goes."

"Yeah, if we wait long enough, maybe your beloved punk will return," Buffy teased. Spike growled in her ear and she giggled.

"Well, although this discussion is fascinating, we better head out if we want to make it back to the campground before full dark," Janice said, diplomatically.

Buffy scrambled off Spike's lap to help Janice gather up the extra food.

"We'll leave you two alone to...talk," Janice whispered to Buffy with a grin. Buffy glared at her friend and handed her the extra beer from the fridge. "I can leave that for Spike, if you want."

"It's not his drink of choice."

Janice added the beer to her bag. "Have fun."

"Go away."

Janice, Tad and Quinton said their goodbyes and headed out. Buffy looked at the sun setting in the west, then closed the door, slowly turning back to Spike, who rose to his feet and slid his hands into his back pockets. They stared at each other for a minute.

"Want to go back to bed?" Spike asked.

Lust hit her hard and she swallowed, blinking her eyes. "Yeah."

Spike held out his hand and Buffy took it, letting him lead her to her bedroom. Once there, she turned on the fan, sending some air moving around the stuffy room. Spike pulled her into his arms, running his hands up her back under her t-shirt and then kissed her.

Helplessly caught in sudden desire, Buffy responded, sliding her fingers into his short hair, her lips twisting hungrily against his as their tongues met and caressed. Her hands moved down over his cool body and slid around his waist. She had been sitting pressed against that cool chest most of the evening...and she loved it. The feeling of chilled skin next to her heated flesh aroused her and she wondered if a human would ever make her feel the same way.

Spike lifted the t-shirt over her head, then resumed kissing her as he pressed her hard-tipped breasts to his chest, smiling as she gasped and squirmed against him. Slipping his hands into the waistband of her shorts, he pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor. Buffy stepped out of them, leaving her in a pair of white panties, but not for long. They too joined the rest of her clothes in a pile on the floor.

Cupping her buttocks, Spike lifted her, pressing her against his arousal. Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, clinging to them as their tongues dueled.

Although he could feel her wetness against his stomach, Spike tried to urge her legs down, but she held on tightly. "Slayer," he murmured between kisses. "Let go so I can touch you."

"Are touching me," she growled, biting his chin, then moving her mouth down to suck on his throat.

"I can't exactly reach your breasts are any other important part of you," he began to protest, then groaned as her teeth scraped across his jugular.

"Don't care. Just do it."

Spike's eyes widened at the demanding tone of her voice, then he shuddered as she sucked on his neck. The lust in his loins grew too intense and he found himself moving them, nearly slamming her back against the nearest wall. Pressing her there, he reached down and managed to undohis jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. As his jeans slid down his legs, his hands returned to her trembling bottom and lifted her.

Their eyes met and held, then he thrust her down on his erection and Buffy moaned, closing her eyes, writhing against him as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Digging her nails into his shoulders, she moved on Spike, thrusting with him, her heels drumming against his back.

Grunting in pleasure, Spike caught her lips again in a hungry kiss. Buffy ground against him, her sweaty body sliding easily on the wall as she rolled her head and keened in need.

As her inner muscles clamped around him Spike exploded in ecstasy, filling her in hard thrusts. Shaking, he slipped from inside her and kicked off his jeans before stumbling over to the bed with her still clinging to him. Falling on his back, he sprawled Buffy on top of him. She was panting and trembling from unfulfilled desire. Squirming, she ground her pelvis against his leg and Spike grabbed her hips, tugging her up his body.

Intent finally penetrated her swirling mind and Buffy scrambled over him until she was kneeling over his head whimpering. Spike's hands caught her buttocks and brought her down to his mouth.

She was hot and wet, nearly burning his tongue as he lathed her clitoris, causing her to moan and jerk in his hands. As he moved her on his mouth and the desire built deep inside her, Buffy twisted her nipples in her hands, sending bolts of heat through her.

Suddenly his lips closed over her and Buffy yelled. The tight pleasure broke, sending shock waves through her. Whimpering she ground down against him until the tension was totally released, then toppled over to the side of the bed in a boneless heap. Gently, Spike scooted farther up the bed and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She was panting, her eyes closed, her body gleaming with perspiration and trembling in satisfaction.

As she felt him caressing her arm, Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him. "We're insane," she whispered.

Spike grinned languidly. "Insanity can be fun, Slayer."

Wrapping her arm across his cold chest, Buffy pressed herself closer, letting his lack of heat numb her sensitized body. They lay there quietly for several minutes, then Spike carefully moved her away from him and sat up.

"The sun's down."

"Uh huh."

"I need to feed, Slayer."

Buffy felt a different kind of chill sweep her and she curled herself into a ball, not wanting to think about that or the undeniable fact that she had just had passionate sex with a killer. Listening to him dressing, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

"When I come back, we're going to talk."

She shook her head. She didn't want him to come back. She didn't want him to go...

Spike crouched down in front of her, understanding her reaction probably better than she did. Gently he touched her cheek and her eyes flew open. "Slayer. You just fucked a killer. Get used to the idea."

Buffy's eyes blazed and she shot off the bed, grabbing her t-shirt off the floor. "Bastard."

Spike chuckled. "But then, so did I." He headed for the bedroom door and Buffy spun around as she tugged the t-shirt over her head.

"If you come back, I'll have a stake waiting," she promised.

He threw his answer over his shoulder. "No you won't." Spike left the room and Buffy slumped onto the bed, her shoulders hunching her over.

"Please don't kill," she whispered, knowing it was futile. Knowing she would let him back in that door and probably back into her bed. She needed him too much...and needed to understand why. She didn't think it really had much to do with Spike personally, although she had always enjoyed their banter and his intelligence. If a person had to have a mortal enemy, he was a pretty good one to have.

Buffy sat on her bed, stunned. Spike had gone to feed...to kill a human being. How could she have let herself ignore that fundamental part of him?

Fury swept through her and Buffy stormed into the bathroom, stripping the t-shirt over her head. Turning on the cold water, she stepped into the shower and yelled in shock as the water hit her. As her body adjusted to the temperature, she grabbed soap and a washcloth and began to scrub her body, trying to rid herself of Spike's touch.

This was becoming a bad habit. She craved his touch...but when reality returned...he was a vampire, a demon, a killer. He was out there killing...and she had given herself to him eagerly...joyfully. The lips that had kissed her with such tender hunger were now satiating another hunger.

He was killing. She should have stopped him. Why hadn't she stopped him? Screaming into the spray of cold water, Buffy rubbed the sponge over her breasts, digging deeply into skin that had so recently flushed at a demon's touch.

Buffy's skin reddened from the cold water and her hard scrubbing, but she kept going, washing from head to toe, desperate to erase his touch from her skin.

It didn't help. She had turned her back on everything, betrayed everyone she loved and everything she believed in--family, friends, her home, her duty...She had learned to live with that. Existing from day to day, not thinking, not remembering.

And then he had dropped into her life, forcing her to remember, forcing her to feel. Emotions buried for two months were swelling inside her, driving her insane...and memories...

Screaming, "NO," she squeezed her eyes shut against the images of her greatest betrayal. Shivering at the cold, Buffy continued to scrub her aching body, wishing, praying that the scourging of her flesh would help cleanse her soul.

Finally, gasping for breath, Buffy turned off the water and staggered from the shower. Staring into the mirror over the sink, she saw a wild-eyed stranger. A stranger who had let a demon fuck her, not once, but twice. A stranger who had reveled in the pleasure that demon gave her. For two months, this stranger had been the only reflection Buffy had seen.

The icy, hard woman in the mirror was not a Buffy Summers any one from her past would recognize. Physically she was the same...but on the inside...She was whatever that Buffy Summers had evolved into...a shell of the seventeen year old girl from Sunnydale. This woman was a survivor. She could exist by ignoring the past, the memories, the emotions.

Except...that when Spike touched her...instead of bringing her closer to death...he brought her to life. During sex she could exist in the present, but as soon as her body calmed, long dormant emotions threatened to escape. Against her will, Spike was making her feel...and she hated it. The icy woman in the mirror was beginning to melt...

Fear swamped her. Fear of buried emotions. Fear of this strange need she had for a demon. Fear of her memories. The woman in the mirror was shaking, shattering.

Buffy couldn't bear to watch her destruction. Screaming, she brought her doubled fists crashing into the mirror.

*****

When Spike returned to the trailer an hour later, the first thing that hit him was not a frying pan or a stake, as he half expected, but the smell of blood. A bolt of fear went through him as he hurried through the trailer. He didn't want to think about the possibilities.

Relief flooded him when he found the Slayer on her knees in the bathroom, pressing a towel to the bleeding side of one hand. A glance showed him that there was broken glass from the mirror all over the counter and floor.

Sensing his presence, Buffy looked up with dull, empty eyes, and rose to her feet, completely unconscious of her nudity. Spike's eyes narrowed as he saw the ugly red marks on her body. She had scrubbed herself nearly raw in places. Idly, he wondered if she believed she had succeeded in wiping away his touch.

Why did he understand her need to cleanse? Shouldn't he feel pissed that she had felt this need? As Buffy took a step towards him, Spike saw that she was about to walk uncaring on the shards of glass. Shrugging off his questions, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Laying her on the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, then sat down next to her. Carefully he picked up her wounded hand, unwrapping the towel to examine the cut. "It's already healing," he murmured, then rewrapped it in the clean part of the towel. "How'd this happen?"

Buffy rolled her head away from him. Ever since she had broken the mirror, she felt as if she was moving in slow motion. Her body, her mind, all plugging along at a snail's pace. Now, his presence had caused everything to speed up again. Now she had to surrender the comforting numbness that surrounded her. Now, she had to deal with the enormity of the events of the past twenty-four hours.

But, she didn't want to. Denial was not just a river.

As Spike touched her hand, Buffy's body quivered anew with desire. Somewhere inside her, she wondered why she would want him after trying so desperately to rid herself of any reminder of his touch, but, she was in control enough to realize that she was out of control. She just didn't care anymore. For two months she had repressed all her emotions until she could forget they had ever existed.

His presence in her life had reawakened those emotions past the point where she could deal with them. They were burying her. Love, hate, passion, joy, fear, all were combining to send her flying further out of control of her life. So, she clung to the one thing that made sense...even if the thing she was clinging to was the creature who had set the emotions free.

For a few moments, he could make her forget. He could make her feel physical pleasure to the point her soul would stop screaming. She needed the emotions to go away!

Spike nearly fell over as the Slayer scrambled onto his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him, clinging like a leech. Her mouth attacked his and he responded, helpless against her sudden, surprising desire.

"Fuck me," Buffy began to babble between passionate kisses. "Just fuck me."

Spike's eyes narrowed and he pulled back from her. This sudden change in attitude was very suspicious. Did she really want him to fuck her or did she want to fall further into denial? After their first time together, neither had wanted to face the consequences. Now...now it was time. He just had to make her understand that. And to do that, he had to get her off his lap before his body took over and told his mind to fuck off.

Buffy latched her mouth onto his throat, nibbling and sucking the sensitive skin until Spike groaned in a combination of lust and regret. This was going to be hard. It took all of his willpower to peel her off of him. "No."

Buffy gave him a wounded look and Spike intercepted her hand going for his crotch, then jumped off the bed.

"Get dressed, slayer. We're going to talk."

Buffy pouted, her mind whirling in a desperate attempt to blanket the emotions raging within her body which trembled with desire. Pouting was going to get her nowhere after one hundred and fifty years of experience with Drusilla's many moods. Spike spun around and left the room, ignoring the Slayer's cry of outrage.

"Come back here, Spike." Buffy couldn't believe he was leaving her. He was a vampire, for God's sake. They'd fuck anything.

Cold anger flooded her. She didn't want to talk. Hadn't she been proving that? Shaking with unfulfilled desire and anger, Buffy rose from the bed and pulled on a t-shirt, kicking the rest of her clothes out of the way and throwing the no longer necessary towel across the room. Almost reveling in the anger--on the theory that, if she had to feel anything, anger was something that she had a chance of dealing with--Buffy stormed out of the room after him.

Spike sat in the easy chair, brooding. The sight of him, lips tight, eyes narrowed, sent a shiver of remembrance through her. It was too familiar...too painful. Wrapping her arms around her suddenly trembling body, Buffy sank onto the couch, her mind whirling with unwanted images of another vampire brooding.

Silence reigned for several minutes, the only sound her rapidly increasing breathing as she fought against the tide of emotions rising in her. She didn't want to feel. She didn't want to feel anything. It was the only way she survived.

"It helps me not think," Buffy murmured, almost to herself. "I can't think, won't think." Her eyes flashed wildly around the room before finding her lap. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and buried her face, rocking slightly.

Spike watched the Slayer retreating and knew he had to stop it. She was manic...and it really bothered him.

"Why are you here?" he asked softly.

"Running, always running, have to run," Buffy chanted against her knees.

"But you've stopped."

Looking up at him, Buffy felt a sense of desolation hit her. Why had she stopped? At first, she hadn't had any money, but now...She began to shake her head.

Not getting an answer, Spike tried another question. "What are you running from, Buffy?"

Buffy was silent for another moment, the question racing around her brain. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she tried to ignore the emotions just below the surface, boiling. Anger. She had felt anger tonight for the first time in two months. She had liked it. The sight of him brooding had driven it away. She needed it back. It doused the other emotions...the ones which terrified her.

"Go away, Spike," she whispered harshly, nearly begging. If he went away, she could forget. She could curl up in a ball and stop thinking, stop feeling, stop hurting. If he wouldn't make her angry, she needed him to leave. She would not allow herself to feel anything else.

"If I go away...how long do you think you'll survive?"

Buffy gave him a harsh laugh that echoed with everything but humor. "All I do is survive, Spike."

"Physically, yeah. This evening, slayer, you forgot. You forgot whatever it was that drove you from Sunnyhell to here. You forgot to feel pain and let yourself feel joy...with your friends and in bed with me."

Suddenly furious again, Buffy screamed at him, "GO TO HELL."

"I'm not the one in Hell, luv. HE is."

Just like that, the fury vanished. Buffy began to shake her head, rocking on the couch. "No, I won't think about this. Just go away, go to New Orleans. Please..."

"You're pathetic, slayer. So pathetic that it's actually frightening."

"Fuck you."

Spike replied in a cheerful tone, "You already did that, luv."

Buffy's eyes snapped up, full of the anger that roared through her body. A part of her wondered, how many times she could go from fury to despair. Her mind felt like it was being twisted inside out and her heart and soul ached.

"There's only one answer, slayer. I knew it five minutes after I fled the mansion and the world was still around. He pulled the sword...there was only one way to stop Acathla."

"Shut up," Buffy yelled through clenched teeth. "Get out of my house. Leave me alone." She would not think about this. She would not. She would not. Deny the memories, deny the emotions...she had to or she would go insane.

"You sent Angelus to Hell. Good for you, luv."

Anguish roared through her. The images assaulted her. Desperately struggling to deny them, Buffy focused on her anger. Looking up again, she gave Spike a nasty look, delighting in the renewed fury. If he was going to make her hurt, he was going to feel the same pain.

"Where's Drusilla, Spike? Where's your black goddess? Did she leave you because you betrayed her? Did she run back to Sunnydale to find something you obviously couldn't give her? Maybe she let herself burn in the sun just so she could be with HIM."

Spike glared back at her, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair as anger surged through him. He managed to keep his voice even. "So, the bitch is back."

Swallowing hard, Buffy uncurled herself from the couch and rose to her feet. "Isn't that what you wanted? You couldn't kill the ice cold stranger I've become or the weeping, sobbing twit or the pathetic slut so desperate to be held, to feel the touch of a man, she'd sleep with her mortal enemy. But, you can kill the bitch."

His eyes never leaving the now aggressive Slayer, Spike slowly rose to his feet. He could almost see the fury vibrating from her. The ice queen, the weeper, the slut, the bitch...they were all aspects of the Slayer. He needed her to deal with her ragged emotions, with the past, with her reasons for running. He needed her to make herself whole again...and deep inside himself, he knew why.

If Spike could help the Slayer become whole, show her how to learn to live without Angelus and with what she did...he could learn to live without Drusilla. Maybe then the hole inside him could be filled and he could feel something other than the constant sorrow he hid so very well.

Buffy wasn't the only one in denial. Spike was simply more experienced at hiding it.

"I don't want you dead," he said softly.

Buffy gave him a disbelieving look. "I thought that would be your greatest joy."

"So did I, Buffy, so did I."

*****

Standing toe to toe, the Slayer and the demon stared into each others eyes, suddenly silent.

Spike didn't want her dead. His words kept revolving in Buffy's weary, amazed mind. Her mortal enemy couldn't kill her, didn't want to kill her.

The Slayer was standing before him, her psyche, for the moment, whole. With a swipe of his claws he could slice her open, with a twist of his fingers, he could snap her neck.

Yet, he didn't want her dead. Spike stared into the blue eyes and realized he wanted her to stay like this. He needed her to stay whole and sane...so he could do the same.

Gently Spike touched her shoulder and watched her eyes widen. "Do you want me to kill you, Buffy? Really, truly?"

Buffy swallowed hard and shook her head. "I don't want to die," she choked out, her arms sliding around her body to hug herself. "I just don't know how to live anymore."

"Why?"

Why...That was all it took, all it took to tear her apart, to make her explode. The question at the root of everything. Why didn't she know how to live anymore. The answer was there, buried so deep inside her. One word, one name, one love, one life.

Why. That simple question brought the emotions to the fore. Pain, longing, sorrow, fear, hatred, anger, they all swamped her and Buffy stood still, staring into Spike's dark eyes, knowing he was touching her, but not feeling him. She began to swallow hard, her eyes widening farther as the emotions swirled and pulled at her.

Opening her mouth, she tried to scream, then closed it again, no sound emerging.

Watching her very expressive eyes, realizing what was happening inside her, Spike kneaded her shoulder gently. "Let it out, luv. You have to let it out."

Before his eyes, Buffy turned white and flinched from his touch, horror twisting her face. He knew her reaction wasn't towards him, but wondered at the pang of hurt her rejection had caused.

Suddenly--surprising both of them--Buffy screamed and what she screamed was a name. "Angel."

She screamed until her throat was raw, her chest heaving, her sides sore from sobbing. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she whimpered the name again before collapsing at Spike's feet.

Scooping the sobbing girl into his arms, Spike carried her to the couch and sat, cradling her as she cried.

After what seemed like an eternity to her, Buffy felt herself regaining control. The emotions she had bottled up inside her had finally exploded, but they hadn't destroyed her, as she had feared they might.

She was at a crossroads. She could either bottle the emotions back up, waiting for them to explode again, or she could face them, face what she had done and try to deal with it.

Neither option was very attractive, but Buffy was tired of not feeling, not caring, tired of a whole bunch of things.

Shifting awkwardly on Spike's lap, she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "You asked me why I stopped running," she began, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I was tired of running. Running kept my emotions alive. Once I stopped, I could force them down, concentrate on keeping myself physically alive. I know, that sounds strange. Most people run to keep from facing anything. I stopped. It was easier not to run anymore, just to settle."

Her voice drifted away and Spike glanced down to watch the tears leak slowly from her reddened eyes. She was hauntingly beautiful.

Shaking himself from his strange reverie, Spike asked a question which had been bothering him for some time. "Why did you run in the first place?" He almost expected her to shut down again, but all Buffy did was look at him with such pain in her eyes...that he knew. In that instant he understood.

"You were prepared to kill Angelus," he murmured, almost to himself. "You could have done that, to save the world, to save your mum and friends. But, it wasn't Angelus you sent to Hell...was it?"

One fresh tear slid from her eye, down over her nose to drip onto her chin. "Angel," was all she could manage to say, before she closed her eyes and began to weep, quietly this time, clinging to him like a child to its mother.

Spike's mind reeled. How was that possible? How had Angel returned? How had his soul been returned? She had sent Angel to Hell to save the world. Soulboy. Her one great love.

No wonder she was such a wreck. Spike knew instantly that he couldn't have done that to Drusilla. Just knocking her out had wracked him with guilt for weeks.

Glancing down at Buffy, he realized she had slipped into sleep. Forcing the dark thoughts of Drusilla from his mind, refusing to acknowledge that he had issues as well, Spike rose to his feet and carried the sleeping Slayer into her bedroom. Laying her on the bed, he covered her up, then returned to the outer room to pace and think.

*****

Sometime before dawn, Buffy awakened, her head pounding, her mouth tasting like sawdust, her eyes sore. As she blinked into the gloom of her room, her memories returned and she lay still, waiting for the overwhelming need to repress to overcome her.

Nothing happened. As she remembered screaming Angel's name, a pang of pain went through her, but she found she could handle it. As she remembered their last kiss, sorrow flooded her, but she didn't try to bury it.

But with the sorrow came grief, and she buried her face in her pillow, crying again, for the first time crying for her loss. All these months, she hadn't allowed herself to grieve.

In the outer room, Spike heard her soft sobs and felt torn between letting her cry and going to her. Finally, the strange connection he felt towards her drew him to her room. Sitting down on the bed next to her, he turned on the lamp and watched her shoulders shake.

"Luv?" he asked hesitantly.

Swiping the tears from her eyes and hiccupping, Buffy sat up and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Spike knew instantly it was for comfort, not desire. Gently, he hugged her to him, drawing her head onto his shoulder.

"I killed him," she said dully. "I sent him to Hell. I had the sword, he was on his knees, I was ready to plunge it through him, when...when his soul returned. He looked up at me with such pain and confusion in his eyes and he said my name....And I knew. I knew it was my Angel back."

Gently Spike stroked her back, listening to her finally speak the cathartic words of truth.

"We embraced like we hadn't touched for decades and...we kissed. I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still hear him saying he loves me. But, I watched the portal opening behind him and knew I had no choice. He knew nothing. He remembered nothing after that night, the only night we had together...and I didn't have time to tell him." She sobbed once, deeply, her whole body shuddering.

"Go on," he encouraged softly.

Buffy took a deep breath and continued, forcing the words through teeth that wanted to clench shut and hold the damning truth back. "I told him to close his eyes. I kissed him one last time. And I thrust the sword into him, pinning him to that damn statue. The look of pain, of fear, of...betrayal on his face...I'll go to my grave remembering it." Her voice died away and she buried her hot face in his cool neck.

Spike stroked her back and shoulders, feeling her body finally relaxing after months of tension and suppressed emotions. Finally looking down, he saw that she was asleep again, a look of almost peace on her thin face. Gently laying her down, he glanced towards the window and felt the rising sun's pull on his own body.

Pulling his boots and belt off, Spike slid under the covers next to the Slayer and closed his eyes. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to sleep in the bathtub.

But, no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.

In her sleep, the Slayer curled trustingly against him and Spike smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist as he rolled onto his side and drifted to sleep.

*****

Buffy dreamed. She stood on a beach, the warm sun bathing her as she looked at the ocean, at the waves gently lapping the sand at her feet, at the whitecaps farther out. She wrapped her arms around her waist and closed her eyes, smelling the salt in the air, hearing the sound of gulls, the faint laughter of children.

A shadow fell across her path. Two strong, firm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a muscular chest.

She sighed, smiling, content in her lover's arms, knowing that she was safe and nothing would harm her there.

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered, his breath in her ear sending a shiver through her, the warmth of his embrace making her stomach tighten.

Slowly she turned in his arms, pillowing her head on his linen covered chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, her fingers kneading his back. "Oh, Angel," she murmured, placing a kiss on his chest.

She could hear his heart beating, feel it thudding quickly beneath her cheek and she smiled.

Suddenly the sun disappeared and night fell. A cold wind blew across the beach, making her shiver and clutch her lover tighter. She looked up, puzzled, and couldn't see his face. "Angel?" No breath touched her. No heartbeat sounded save her own.

"Angel's dead," a voice rang in her ears. "He's in Hell, rotting."

She whimpered and squinted into the darkness. "Where'd the sun go?" she begged, helplessly.

The darkness before her cleared and she looked up into Spike's face. "Vampires can't survive in the sun, luv." His arms tightened around her, his hands cupping her bottom to lift her against him.

"Spike," she said softly, acknowledging him, his presence in her arms. "Does this mean you're Angel's replacement?"

He grinned and swooped down for a kiss. "Well, can't rightly kill you after all the lovely shagging."

For a split second she was outraged, then she laughed and returned his kiss. Finally, panting for breath, she pulled back and smiled up at him. "Thank you for setting me free."

"Any time, Slayer, any time."

~~~~~

Buffy woke with a start, her dream still bouncing around her brain. Groaning at the burning in her eyes, the muted pounding in her head, she struggled to sit up, then glanced down at the male body she had been sprawled across.

When had he slipped into bed with her?

Frowning and rubbing her temples, Buffy glanced at the clock and winced at the time. Two fifteen in the afternoon. Since work started at six in the morning...Shit.

Groaning again, she slipped from the bed onto shaky legs and found a pair of shorts on the floor. Slipping them on and tucking her t-shirt in loosely, she grabbed her sandals and slipped out to call work.

*****

Twenty minutes, one apologetic phone call and two tylenol later, Buffy sat on the couch, staring across the room. Her headache was fading as she worked her way through the memories of the night before and the remaining images of the dream.

She had begun to make her peace with what she had done. She had finally let Angel go. Angel. Thinking his name no longer sent shards of pain or bolts of panic screaming through her.

Just sorrow. A deep sorrow. But she could live with it.

Spike had shown her the way. He had forced her to confront the truth of what she had done and confrontation could only lead to acceptance and then to healing. It was still going to take time and she might never fully forgive herself and she'd certainly never forget, but she had made the turn.

Maybe it was time to make another turn...towards home.

Buffy's stomach growled and she realized that she was truly hungry for the first time in a long time. Going to the kitchen she made herself a sandwich and found an apple that only had a few bad spots in it.

*****

At sundown, Buffy set down last month's Cosmo and glanced down the hall. A few moments later her bedroom door opened and Spike shuffled out, yawning.

"There you are, Slayer," he said grumpily.

Buffy stifled a giggle. "Not everyone wants to sleep the day away."

"Aren't we the cheerful one," he replied sourly, slumping down next to her on the couch and yawning again.

Slightly amazed, Buffy realized he was right. She did feel rather...well, if not cheerful, at least not too sad. "I feel okay," she admitted, a hint of a smile crossing her lips.

"You must have had one great dream," he growled crossly. "I woke up once to find you squeezing me to death."

She couldn't help it. She had to giggle and the giggle turned into full fledged laughter. "You're already dead, silly."

Spike stared at her, then shook his head. "You've gone insane, haven't you? Well, nothing to fear. I know how to deal with insane females. A good shag now and then..."

"What did you say?" Buffy interrupted.

"Huh? A good shag?"

"That's what you said in my dream." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder just how much was really a dream..."

"Going psychic on me?" He winced at the thought.

"Well, I do have these prophetic dreams." Slowly, she described her dream, struggling to remember details and trying to analyze what they meant. "And day turned to night and Angel turned into you."

"Did we fight?"

Buffy shook her head. "No...I said something like...'are you his replacement' and you said something about 'not being able to kill me after shagging me'." She blushed at the implications of the word. "Then we kissed."

"Okay. Interesting." Spike's brow furrowed and he looked at her, at the calmness and peace he could see in her face and body language. "What about the voice that said he was in Hell?"

A frown crossed her face and she dropped her eyes. "It wasn't you. I think...I think it was a part of me trying to drag me back to the way I've been...to the safety of not having to deal with what I did," she answered slowly, in a small voice. "It was trying to shock me back into my stupor."

"And I set you free?"

Smiling, Buffy nodded.

Disturbed, Spike rose and began to pace. "What if I don't want that kind of responsibility? What if I don't want to be Angel's replacement? And what the fuck does that mean anyway? In your bed, in guarding you, protecting your back, saving you from big, bad vampires? I am a big, bad vampire, remember?"

A flash of anger shot through her. "Hey, you're assuming a Hell of a lot here, mister. I may not WANT you in my bed or protecting my back."

Spike stopped pacing and stared at her, then snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy replied under her breath, "Ego much?"

"I have my own problems, luv."

"Yeah, like, where's Drusilla?"

At her pointed question, Spike glowered at her, then stormed out of the trailer, letting the door bang shut behind him.

"Oops."

Fully unrepentant, Buffy began to whistle the tune to "Bitch" and headed for the bathroom and a relaxing shower and pampering session.

He'd be back. She just had this feeling...

*****

A few hours later, Buffy sat on the couch wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, giving herself a manicure. As she tsked over the sorry state of her fingernails, the door opened. Looking up she watched as Spike slunk into the trailer, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

"Hi," she said cheerfully, tossing the emery board onto the side table.

He mumbled something unintelligible and shuffled over to the easy chair. Flopping down in it, he dug into his breast pocket for a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter, still not looking at her. As he lit one and took a deep drag, he leaned his head back to stare at the grungy ceiling.

"Spike...Spiiike," she cajoled, still slightly amazed at how good she felt. "Oh, Spikey."

"Don't call me that," he growled.

"Ooh yeah, you're the big, bad vampire."

Spike's eyes finally fell on her, full of disbelief. "What happened to mopey girl?"

"You fucked her into submission."

Spike gaped until the cigarette burned his finger and he stubbed it out in an empty pop can, blowing on his injured digit. "Are you sure you didn't go nuts?"

Buffy smiled and drew her legs up underneath her. "Not nuts, just on the road to recovery, thanks to you forcing me to confront what I did...what happened to Angel," she said softly.

He gave her a skeptical look. "I don't know, Slayer. You seem to be TOO cheerful now."

Buffy thought about it for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "Not too cheerful. It's just...I've been dead inside for so long that I may be overcompensating," she struggled to explain.

"Well then," he began, then fumbled for another cigarette, finally getting one lit. "I guess you don't need me anymore."

Buffy stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to find a hint of emotion in his expressionless face, his empty eyes.

"Mortal enemies and all that," he finally continued, taking another deep drag on the cigarette.

"Yeah...mortal enemies," she replied slowly. "You know, I'm not really sure that's true anymore. I just don't want to kill you." Buffy flashed him a quirky smile.

Spike growled and his lips twisted. "Girl, we are so much safer being mortal enemies than whatever the fuck we've been the last few days."

She nodded, knowing it was true. "Right. You're right. I know that. You're a vampire, a vampire without a soul, bloodthirsty, killer, etcetera. I'm a slayer. I slay vampires. Sacred duty and all that."

"See? We can never be friends. We can never be lovers," Spike answered flatly.

"A little late for that," Buffy muttered.

He glowered at her and put out his cigarette before jumping to his feet to pace again. "I'm not a replacement for Angel. I can't be. I refuse to be. I've been there, done that, and been fucked royally for trying."

Watching him pace, Buffy wondered at the bitterness in his voice and finally opened her mouth. "Drusilla?"

He turned on her, standing over her and glaring. "You were right. She's a big ho. Her precious Angelus came back and she was all over him like a bitch in heat. They pretended nothing was happening as if I couldn't hear them going at it all day in the room above my fucking head. Daddy was back and all he had to do was look at her and she was leaping for his cock." He sneered, his arms flailing as he ranted. "Stupid bitch. I gave her everything she ever wanted. I worshiped the fucking ground she fucking walked upon and she dumped me for a big wanker with a hair gel fixation!"

Buffy felt a flash of pain at the truth of Angel's relationship with Drusilla, and all the cheer in her fled, but she kept her mouth shut about that and let him rant. She understood that he needed release too. "Where is she now?" she asked quietly.

"Hell if I know," Spike growled, pacing again. "I took her north, to Canada, just as I promised you. She didn't speak to me for two weeks. Then...then everything seemed okay. For nearly a month I thought we were happy. We were building a little coven. I'd bought her new dolls and all the pretty dresses she could want. And the sex...oh shit, the sex was fantastic. It had been so long since Prague." His voice took on a dreamy quality as he remembered.

Running his fingers through his hair in agitation, Spike flopped down on the couch next to Buffy and stared at the ceiling. "Then one evening I woke up to find her driving stakes into my hands and feet, pinning me to the floor, crucifying me for Christ's sake." He snorted in disgust. "She giggled the whole time, giggled like the nutter she is."

Buffy turned to look at him, watching the anger and pain flow across his face as he stared straight ahead.

"She stood there, looking at me, giggling, and said that I had been a naughty boy and she had better things to do than hang around with a naughty boy," he forced out through clenched teeth. "Then she kicked me in the nuts and stormed out."

After a few moments of silence, Buffy ventured a question. "Do you know where she went?"

"I've been following a trail of corpses and fledglings. She always did pick the oddest people to turn," he mused, then continued in a harder voice. "Stupid bitch."

"She didn't come through here. I think I would have noticed."

"No, she headed on down I-70 to Kansas City, after wasting about half of some fanatical church in Topeka" His voice took on an admiring tone. "Oh, it was a lovely sight. Half the dead flock had gay bashing signs sticking out of various orifices. Pure poetry." At Buffy's clearing her throat, Spike shook himself and continued. "I felt drawn here...and I was hungry, so I stopped." Spike shrugged. "I think she's heading to New Orleans. One of her favorite proteges is the mistress of the master of the French Quarter."

"Why do you want her back?" Buffy just had to ask. "She IS a big ho, Spike. She's probably fucking some other vampire as we speak."

Spike growled half-heartedly, then sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing at his sore eyes. "Love...love is insane and it'll drive you insane if you let it."

"Love makes you do the wacky," Buffy murmured in understanding.

Spike sighed again. "I need a good stiff drink." Rising to his feet, he reached for Buffy and pulled her up with him. "There's a bar down the street. Let's go get plastered."

"Um, I'm just sort of underage here."

He ran his eyes over her slender body and grinned lasciviously. "Uh huh. Go put your shoes on. I'm buying."

"And I don't drink," Buffy added feebly as she hurried to her bedroom for her shoes.

*****

The bar was nearly empty for a Monday night and they found a quiet table at the back. As Spike went to get a couple of beers, he tossed some change to Buffy and told her to go put some music on the jukebox. She was still reading the song titles when he strolled back across the smoky room.

"I've never heard of most of these bands. The Marshall Tucker Band? Jethro Tull? Bungle in the Jungle? What kind of song name is that? The Band? Oh, that's original. What, are these country groups?"

Sighing, Spike took the change from her, inserted it in the machine and pushed a few buttons, then tried to tug her away from the jukebox.

"Oh, jeez, my dad listens to these guys. Lynyrd Skynyrd. He plays air guitar when he thinks I'm not watching."

"Free Bird is a classic," Spike muttered as they reached the table and the song began to play.

"Yeah, this is the one. When I was in junior high, my girlfriends and I used to watch professional wrestling and some wrestler used this as his theme song. He was old."

Closing his eyes briefly, Spike shoved a beer at her and slumped into a chair. "Drink, now."

Smiling at her success in teasing him out of his anger at Drusilla and into being frustrated at her, Buffy took a sip of her beer. "Better than Billy Idol I guess," she said innocently.

Spike's eyes narrowed and he growled across his beer bottle before downing half its contents. "You trying to piss me off, Slayer?"

"Am I succeeding?" she asked lightly.

"You ever see the movie 'Near Dark'?"

"No."

He grinned evilly at her. "There's a lovely scene in a bar full of vampires. Blood and death everywhere. I tried draining a guy into a beer mug once. It's a lot harder than it looks, but not impossible."

Buffy frowned at him and took a healthy swallow. "Just try it, peroxide boy."

Spike chuckled and finished his beer. "I think some tequila is in order here." Taking his empty bottle, he headed back to the bar.

As she sipped her beer, Buffy watched him swagger from the table, her eyes fixed on his hard ass. As heat surged through her, she fanned herself with her hand and took another big swallow, grinning.

Returning with a bottle of tequila and two glasses, Spike straddled the chair and poured them each a shot. Buffy eyed hers warily. "Are there worm bits in this?"

"In this cheap shit?" He downed his shot.

Hesitantly Buffy swallowed hers, then coughed and choked at the strong taste. Spike hit her on the back a couple of times, laughing.

"You'll get used to it."

Gasping for breath, Buffy finished her beer. "Whoa."

He poured them each another round as the guitar solo started.

Buffy gave him a suspicious look. "You trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?"

"Slayer, I can smell your arousal." Spike grinned and drank his second shot as she sputtered and turned red. "I don't think alcohol is necessary to get you into bed."

"What about Drusilla?" she choked out.

"Oh, I'm going to find her," he said with all sincerity. "I'm going to find her, beat her, fuck her within an inch of her unlife and drag her somewhere she hates. Russia I think. No one fun in Russia to party with."

"Good plan." Buffy took a careful sip of her second drink. It went down a little smoother and she began to feel all warm and tingly. "So...what's happened between us the last few days..." she began carefully.

Spike's eyes narrowed and went hot as he looked at her flushed face and moist lips. "You know as well as I do, Buffy, that there can never be anything between us...unless you want me to turn you."

"Thanks for the offer, but that's really not my goal in life," she quipped as she slammed back the rest of her drink.

Their eyes met, both unreadable and deep. Each felt a hint of sorrow at what could never be, but they nodded at each other and smiled in understanding. Spike poured them each another drink and they raised their glasses.

"To getting our lives and unlives straightened out," he proposed.

"To mortal enemies...who sometimes can become surprising friends."

The glasses clinked and they threw back the burning tequila.

*****

It was midnight when they left the bar, arms wrapped around each other's waist. Spike had consumed three times as much alcohol as Buffy, but she was much more drunk. As he half carried her down the street, she giggled.

"Wooo, that shaquilla sure packs a wallop."

"Tequila."

"Thass what I said. Whoa, look at the stop light. Something really wrong there. All blurry."

"I think that's your vision, pet."

Buffy pulled away from him and staggered towards the light post. "Nope, still blurry."

Spike caught her before she stumbled into the street. Scooping her into his arms, he slung her over his shoulder, groaning. "For such a petite thing, you sure do weigh a lot."

She kicked him in the stomach and growled. "All the shaquilla."

Rolling his eyes, Spike continued down the street.

"I really liked that last song, Shpike. Wha was it again?"

"The Grand Illusion by Styx."

"Pick up sticks?"

"No, like the river."

"Gran' Illushion...Thass what life is, Shpike. One big ol' illushion...and a kinda blurry one." She giggled, then began to caress his ass. "You know what? You got a great ass. All hard and muscley an' tight, tight buns, buns o' steel."

"Slayer," Spike growled and jogged her on his shoulder.

Buffy moaned and clutched his ass tighter. "Gonna make me barf."

"Maybe I overdid it on the getting her drunk part of the evening," Spike muttered as he tried to walk carefully.

They made it into her trailer without further incident. As he hit the light switch, Spike set her on her feet and stepped back. Buffy turned green and bolted for the bathroom.

"Definitely overdid it." Flopping on the couch, Spike lit a cigarette and watched the smoke swirl up to the ceiling.

*****

Slowly dragging her trembling body up the counter from her slumped, kneeling position, Buffy stared into the space where the mirror used to be. Flushing the toilet, she winced at the noise, then scrabbled in the medicine cabinet for some tylenol.

As she tipped her head back to swallow the tablets, everything went swirly again and she bent over, panting. "Oh shit," she moaned, closing her eyes against the waves of dizziness.

After a few minutes, she carefully opened her eyes. The room didn't spin very quickly, which she took as a good sign. Finding her toothbrush, she got rid of the nasty taste in her mouth, then patted a damp cloth on her face.

Feeling slightly better, Buffy slowly, carefully returned to the living room.

"Feeling better, pet?" Spike asked.

"Peachy," she replied through gritted teeth. Carefully she sat down on the couch, trying not to make anything bounce, muttering, "Damn vampire, damn vampire ability to drink and not barf..."

Spike chuckled and put out his cigarette. "Have I ever mentioned how amusing you are?"

If looks could kill, he'd have been a crispy critter from the glare aimed his way.

"And lovely, quite lovely. The hint of green in your cheeks brings out the color of your eyes."

"Keep it up, Spike," she whispered hoarsely. "Keep on goading me, that's right."

He laughed some more and watched her turn from green to red. "I told you that four glasses were enough."

"You could have stopped pouring the damn stuff."

"You threatened to stake me right there in the bar."

Buffy squinted as she tried to remember. A vague memory flashed in front of her glazed eyes. "Oh...right...and you laughed at me."

"I haven't laughed like this in weeks...and I bet neither have you," he replied softly.

"Is that sweet talk?" she asked suspiciously.

Spike grinned. "Is it working?"

Buffy thought about it for a minute, then sighed and staggered to her feet. "If you want a goodbye fuck, you better come get it now before I pass out."

The room spun and she swayed, then stumbled towards the hall really hoping she wouldn't run into the wall that kept moving before her eyes.

Her bedroom was dark and quiet. Two more steps and she fell face first onto the bed, snoring.

Spike strolled into the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp. Grinning at the sound of snoring, he began to pull off his clothes, tossing them negligently on the floor. Naked, he stretched. He wasn't really tired, but he'd fed earlier in the evening and he couldn't think of anything better to do then wait for the slayer to wake up.

Crouching at her feet, he slid her sandals off, tossing them over his shoulder, then ran his hands up her smooth calves and thighs, feeling the tight muscles. Rolling the limp girl onto her back, Spike pulled her shorts and panties off, then lifted her enough to wriggle her out of her tank top.

Laying down on the bed, he tugged Buffy into his arms, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

*****

Near dawn, Buffy woke with a groan. Her head hurt, though the pain was no longer blinding. As she blinked her eyes open, the room swam for a moment, then settled down.

Realizing she was laying half on top of something cold and hard, Buffy looked down and saw Spike's body. His naked body. Glancing up, she saw him looking at her.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up, Slayer."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as scattered memories of the previous night came back. "You got me drunk."

"You helped," he replied tolerantly.

"I barfed."

"Without my help."

"Did we...?" She blushed hotly as she realized she couldn't remember.

"I may be a demon, but I do have limits, luv. I prefer my bedmates to be non-corpse like."

"Uh huh. Is that why you were with Drusilla for over a hundred years?"

Spike grinned and ran his hand through her hair. "That's the bitchy slayer I love...well, in a 'love to fuck and fight with' way," he hastily qualified.

"Uh huh." Yawning and groaning, she struggled into a sitting position, then squirmed. "Um, I'll be back in a sec." Flushing, she hurried to the bathroom.

In complete admiration, Spike watched her ass jiggle.

When she returned, she quickly scrambled under the sheet.

"Buffy, I HAVE seen you naked, you know."

"I know," she mumbled, trying not to focus her eyes on his own nudity. "But...we haven't done it yet...tonight, I mean, and it's weird."

"Well, how about we remedy that?" Grabbing the sheet, Spike tugged it away from her breasts and urged her onto her back, leering over her. Leaning down, he covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

Sighing in sudden pleasure, Buffy twined her arms around his neck and pulled him on top of her. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts against his chest, rubbing her nipples until they began to harden and send bolts of lust through her.

Kissing her deeply, Spike slid his under the sheet, shoving it down farther as he caressed the smooth skin of her stomach and hips. Rolling onto his side, he pulled her with him, his hands cupping her ass, kneading gently.

Gasping for breath, Buffy pulled her mouth free, then hungrily ran her lips over his cheeks and jaw, around to his ear. A hot, damp feeling swelled between her thighs and she licked the sensitive spot behind his ear, catching the lobe between her teeth, before moving on.

Groaning in pleasure as she sucked on his Adam's apple, Spike felt his cock stir to life and pulled her closer, his hands running over her, kneading and caressing. One of her legs wrapped around his waist and she rubbed against his erection, whimpering in growing desire.

Sliding farther down his body, placing nipping kisses on every bit of flesh she could reach, Buffy rolled Spike onto his back. As she tongued his navel, making him grunt lustily, her hand slid between his thighs to caress his staff.

"Buffy..."

"Shh." As she raised her head, another wave of dizziness hit her and Buffy smiled, still a little drunk. "I've never done this before," she mumbled as she lowered her lips over his penis, sucking it inside her hot mouth.

"Shit pet," Spike hissed, his hips bucking against her as she sucked him like a popsicle.

"Ummmm, cold," she murmured in delight before resuming her head bobbing.

"Are you sure you've never done this?" he gasped, his eyes nearly crossing at the sensations running through his hard flesh.

Lifting her head, Buffy grinned and straddled his thighs. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth to his, her tongue searching for his. Grunting in lust, Spike caught her breasts as they swayed above his chest. His fingers twisted her pebbled nipples until she moaned against his lips and squirmed.

Bucking his hips against her, Spike groaned as he felt her wetness soaking into his straining erection. One hand remaining on her breast, the other headed south and delved between her trembling legs, brushing past the damp curls to find her hot, swollen flesh.

Buffy jerked, then pressed against his fingers. "Yes, please," she begged, then buried her mouth in his neck as her pelvis ground down on him.

Grabbing her hips, Spike lifted her and impaled her on his cock, grunting harshly.

Splaying her hands on his chest, Buffy whimpered in lust and began to move on him, slowly at first, then quicker as she picked up the instinctive rhythm. Spike's hands guided her for a few minutes, then reached up to fondle her swaying breasts.

Panting as her desire grew, Buffy threw her head back, then winced as the room spun. Digging her fingernails into Spike's chest, she closed her eyes and moved faster, grinding her clitoris against his hard pubic bone on each down stroke.

Suddenly, Spike rolled them, coming over her smoothly, thrusting hard and fast into her grasping channel. Groaning his name, Buffy arched up and wrapped her legs around his churning hips, as her hands clutched his arms.

Their lips met in ferocious need and they bit and sucked as their flesh slapped together and the bed banged against the wall.

Slamming her lithe body against his, Buffy keened and exploded into orgasm, her body shuddering as release flooded her.

Feeling her clenching around him, Spike hissed and let himself go, driving for his own climax as she whimpered beneath him, her heels drumming against his ass.

Growling, he came, thrusting hard and deep before collapsing on top of her, his head in the crook of her neck.

Buffy slowly relaxed, her legs falling away from him, her hands slipping from his arms, as her body calmed down and her breathing evened out. Her head still swam, but the warm glow deep inside her was worth the annoying dizziness.

Groaning in pleasure, Spike moved off her. As he flopped on his back, Buffy curled up against him, closing her eyes.

"That was nice," she mumbled sleepily.

"Very nice," he answered softly, looking down into her peaceful face. A bloody sight better than nice. Chuckling softly at his own thoughts, Spike reached down to pull the sheet over them and turned off the lamp.

Closing his eyes, he gently rubbed her shoulder and back as he listened to her drift to sleep. As the sun began to rise behind the thick, dark curtains, he pulled her closer and joined her in slumber.

*****

By the time Spike awoke the next evening, Buffy had quit her job, said goodbye to her friends, given up her trailer and was nearly packed for the ten o'clock bus west.

Stretching, Spike sat up and watched her stuffing clothes into a duffel bag.

"Going somewhere, luv?"

At his voice, Buffy spun around and gave him a quick smile. "Yeah. Back home."

Looking at her determined face, he nodded in understanding. "Probably a good idea." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his jeans and dragged them on.

"So...what are you going to do?" she asked hesitantly.

Spike answered as he looked around for his shirt. "I'm off to New Orleans. Going to find my woman and explain to her exactly why she's my woman."

Buffy tried not to smile, but couldn't help it when he knelt and stuck his butt in the air while he looked under the bed.

"Where the Hell is my shirt?" he growled.

"It's in the hall, for some reason."

Shaking his head, Spike stomped into the hall and came back, yanking his t-shirt over his head. Buffy pulled the drawstrings on her bag, then sat down on the bed to put on her shoes.

Feeling Spike's eyes on her, she looked up into his inscrutable expression.

After a minute of silence, he spoke softly. "Well, I guess this is it."

"Uh huh." Buffy rose to her feet and reached for her bag.

Her hand was intercepted by Spike's and he tugged her into his arms, grinning down on her. "It's been interesting, Slayer."

Smiling up at him, feeling strangely giddy, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers for a tender kiss. "Remember me," she whispered against his lips before stepping back out of his arms.

"Oh, I think you're unforgettable, Buffy."

Flushing slightly, she grabbed her bag and walked out the door.

As he watched her leave, Spike's lips twisted into a quirky smile and he wondered just how long he would be able to stay away from her.

For, even if they never slept together again, she was just too much damn fun to be around. And, for an eternal vampire, fun was often in short supply.

Friends, lovers, mortal enemies... The labels didn't really matter. The connection was there and could never be broken.

End

Better Buffy Fiction Archive Entry

Mortal Enemies